


Two

by zade



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Hypochondria, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Scars, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:31:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3270056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zade/pseuds/zade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s been sick before, twice.  He’s been sick twice and people have died twice and he can’t get sick again because people are starting to like him.</p><p> </p><p>Murphy develops OCD traits. For a prompt on tumblr, kinda</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for: probably somewhat inaccurately portrayed OCD, a heavily implied sex scene, references to torture, John Murphy being Not Okay (but Bellamy trying to understand)
> 
> beta'd by the incomparable [link hateboners](hateboners.tumblr.com)

He likes logic, reason. He is good at putting things together, bad at taking them apart. He is smart, and he doesn’t care about the good of others, because no one cares about what is good for him, which, he thinks, is reasonable. He isn’t superstitious and he doesn’t believe in luck. Things happen, good or bad, and that’s the end of it. 

Except.

Except Miller gets sick. At first it’s just a sniffle, then a cover of sweat and a hacking cough and a fever that goes up and up and up.

He is not afraid of being sick, because he isn’t afraid of death. He’s had a noose around his neck and a knife at his throat and he’s coughed up blood and had his chest ache so much that it hurt to breathe, so no he is not afraid of death. 

But.

It’s not rational, and he knows it, but after Miller gets sick he runs and washes his hands off, nervous and shaky and confused. He kneels by a wash basin, hands still dripping wet, nauseous and jittery.

It’s fine, he tells himself, because it is. His hands are clean now, so he’s fine. He is made of steel and fire and he will not bend and he will not be smothered and this is fine. He will be okay.

He washes his hands again before he leaves. He tells himself that that’s okay, too.

He’s back in their makeshift washroom not an hour later, and washes himself head to toe twice before he can make himself leave.

“Surprised to see you looking human,” Bellamy says instead of a greeting when they are sent out later to gather firewood.

He can’t tell if that’s an insult or a compliment but it makes his skin itch. The air is colder now, winter on it’s way, and it’s so strange because winter was just a concept in space and he’s cold now, and his hands are shaking and he can’t get sick.

He’s been sick before, twice. He’s been sick twice and people have died twice and he can’t get sick again because people are starting to like him. It’s simple, it’s cause and effect, and if more people die because of him, he will lose everything he's worked so hard to get.

He realizes he’s been quiet for too long when Bellamy says, “clean. I meant you looked clean.’’

He is clean, so he nods, and heads out. He is good at gathering wood, because it is mindless. He is a good soldier, he is a good worker, because if he is good they will start to like him and then they won’t throw him out again (and he won’t get sick and people won’t die, breathe in breathe out breathe in breathe out).

He bathes again when they get back.

Miller is fine. Of course he is, it was just a cold, Abby says.

Just a flu, dad says. People live through the flu all the time.

That’s true, but his dad didn’t. He goes to sleep that night and he’s fine, he’s fine. And Miller’s fine (Miller’s fine). The next morning he bathes again and washes himself twice.

He sees Bellamy after breakfast and Bellamy smiles a stupid sideways smile, half apologetic half predatory and reaches out to clap him on the shoulder, but he ducks just in time.

“Are you okay?” Bellamy’s gone from genial to concerned in a millisecond, which would be impressive if it wasn’t directed at him.

“Yeah I’m fine, just didn’t want you to put your hands on me.” Because something would be different, then. He’d be dirty, then. His skin starts itching. He scratches it, and then again.

“You didn’t used to mind,” Bellamy says, which is also true. They haven’t touched since they exchanged nooses, which was intimate in a different way.

The first time they fucked he had pushed Bellamy into his tent, threw him to the ground, and straddled him, their hands all over each other bodies, magnetic. With a bite, he said, “whatever the hell we want, right?” and let Bellamy fuck him till the morning.

He has scars now. Scars around his neck and wrists, his ribs, his legs, his chest. Everywhere Bellamy touched him is scarred and everywhere clean is vulnerable and if he gets dirt he will get sick and someone will die.

“Float yourself,” he suggests, and heads back to his tent, which is, thankfully, far from Bellamy’s.

“Wait!” Bellamy calls, but he is done waiting. “Wait, wait! John!”

He turns around, furious, blood racing and sweat forming on his brow like a fever—no, not a fever, not a fever—and he spits, “it’s Murphy. John was a little kid with the flu.”

Instead of his tent, he heads to the washroom. He will bath himself again and he will feel clean and he will be okay. He will be okay.

A few of the showerheads from the living quarters on the Ark still work, and Raven did something complicated with the water system which means hot water if you claim a shower cubicle before anyone else. He grabs one, pulling the makeshift curtain behind and stripping quickly. 

Bellamy runs into the washroom, and he can hear Bellamy’s footfalls and loud rasp of his breath. Maybe Bellamy is sick. “Are you okay, Murphy?” he asks.

He turns the water on and it’s hot on his skin. He remembers that heat kills bacteria and he can breath for a second, and then the curtain is open and Bellamy is stepping into the shower cubicle, naked, and still concerned.

“I need to get clean,” he says, and Bellamy nods patiently.

“Okay.” Bellamy hugs the wall, lets him wash himself without interruption. He does, head to toe, and then again.

“Was that enough?” Bellamy asks once he’s completed his ritual twice. He nods, fingers shaking. Too nervous and too relieved to speak. He offers his sliver of soap to Bellamy, who takes it, slowly. “Do I…?” Bellamy gestures to the length of his body, and he nods. “Twice?” Another nod.

Bellamy washes himself thoroughly, but efficiently, once, and then again. He watches Bellamy’s every move and when he has finished, he pressed his lips to Bellamy’s and holds him tight. 

Bellamy lets himself be kissed, yielding and gentle. “I sorry,” he whispers onto Bellamy’s lips. “I’m crazy, I’m sorry. I’m crazy.”

Bellamy says, “it’s okay,” and then again, like he gets it. He starts crying, but he rubs frustrated at his face. “Why don’t we get out of the shower?” Bellamy suggests, and he lets himself be dried and dressed and lead back to his own tent, where he lies with Bellamy and tries to calm his breathing.

“I can’t get sick,” he says, and Bellamy nods like it makes sense. Maybe it does. “When I get sick people die.”

Bellamy runs a hand along his arm and when it starts to itch, he tells Bellamy to stop, and he does. “Okay,” Bellamy says, and it will be okay. He will be okay. He will be okay.

He is stronger than this. He is iron and fire and rage and death and he will not be overcome by his own mind. They fall asleep like cats, curled around each other. He wakes up alone, which is okay, too. It is okay, too. He tells himself this, and yet feels overwhelmingly and stupidly happy and relieved when Bellamy shoves through the flap of his tent, smiling and wet.

“I did it twice. Okay?” 

He lets Bellamy kiss him and run his hands over his body. “Okay,” he says, and feels like for once, maybe it is.

**Author's Note:**

> come bother/prompt/talk to me on [tumblr](racetrackthehiggins.tumblr.com)


End file.
